


Stalking Nightmares

by FudgingPastry



Series: The Price I Pay to Keep You Safe [3]
Category: DreamSMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Interrogation, Non-Graphic Torture, Non-Human!Dream, Other, POV Multiple, Referenced Manipulation, Torture, Video Game Mechanics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-21 23:07:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30029250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FudgingPastry/pseuds/FudgingPastry
Summary: “Dream,” Sam started, pausing as Dream’s head turned towards him, the mask hiding all expression. “Four days ago, it was discovered you were not in your cell, nor were you anywhere in the prison. Six hours after the discovery, you were found back in your cell. Before this occurred, total lockdown was initiated and completed. At some point in those six hours, the ceiling to the main cell was broken open. The blocks were replaced, but the redstone was broken.” Sam leaned forward, his chin resting on interlaced fingers. “What I would like to discuss is how you escaped and who is responsible for aiding you.”
Relationships: Cara | CaptainPuffy & Sam | Awesamdude
Series: The Price I Pay to Keep You Safe [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2176035
Comments: 12
Kudos: 111
Collections: Completed stories I've read





	Stalking Nightmares

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is a direct continuation of the previous fic "These Bonds We Keep". I would highly recommend you read that first prior to reading this fic, though it is honestly not necessary. This fic was originally not planned to happen, but the idea got stuck in my head and I could not keep it there. I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> This fic is based on the characters in the DreamSMP, not the content creators. Any views expressed in this fic are not a reflection of the content creators in any shape or form.

Dream leaned back in the chair, his face lifted up to the blackstone ceiling. His mask covered the places his eyes drifted, the bored expression on his face. His hands were buried in his sweater's front pocket, lightly scratching at his fingertips. He was alone in the room, but he could hear voices outside the door. Sam and Puffy were talking. Puffy, the new guard for the prison, had taken him from his cell to this small room. She hadn’t said why, but he could guess. The table, the chair with its back against the wall, and the empty chair across from him. They were going to interrogate him, try to worm out whatever information they wanted. And Dream would give it to them, within reason. They wouldn’t believe him, because why would they? Not that it mattered.

Sam and Puffy entered the room, faces kept blank behind their armor of glimmering netherite. Puffy took her place at Sam’s right hand, her back to the wall. It would give her view of the whole room, with only a few blind spots on Dream’s side. His gaze flickered unseen to Sam who pulled back the chair and settled in it. He had a journal in his hand, a quill and ink ready to record information.

“Dream,” Sam started, pausing as Dream’s head turned towards him, the mask hiding all expression. “Four days ago, it was discovered you were not in your cell, nor were you anywhere in the prison. Six hours after the discovery, you were found back in your cell. Before this occurred, total lockdown was initiated and completed. Are you following?” Dream nodded, then tilted his head the other direction. The mask, ever smiling, tilted on its side with the movement. He made no other noise. Sam exhaled through his nose and opened his journal.

“At some point in those six hours, the ceiling to the main cell was broken open. The blocks were replaced, but the redstone was broken.” Sam leaned forward, his chin resting on interlaced fingers. “What I would like to discuss is how you escaped and who is responsible for aiding you.”

Dream leaned back in his chair. He knew the questions that were coming and he knew what he would say: the truth. What else could he say? He could lie. Sure, he could weave stories like cloth that would entwine and ensnare them, leave them lost and forgotten and wondering who was friend and who would be better off with a knife in the back.

But where was the fun in that?

“Dream,” Sam started, his gaze focused on the center of the mask. “At what point did you escape?”

“After you initiated the lockdown and left the cell block.”

“Was the lava held back or flowing?”

“Flowing.”

“Can you describe what was in your chest prior to lockdown?”

“Thirteen unused books, three books written in, and a stack of potatoes.”

“And after you escaped? That is, before you returned.”

“All those items, plus the mask and my clothes.”

Sam hummed and wrote down Dream’s answers. That followed what Sam had found and what he knew, but…

“How did you escape?”

“I swam up through the lava, dug my way out of the ceiling, and left.”

Sam exhaled as he finished writing. This was not adding up. It didn’t make _sense._

“Do you have chests hidden in your cell?”

“You know I don’t, Sam. You built the place. How am I going to mine obsidian before the blocks heal, before you notice?” He asked, his annoyance breaking through his tone for the first time since the interrogation started.

“I assume the same way you dug your way out,” Sam replied calmly. Dream winced and looked away quickly. Sam added the reaction to his notes. An emotional Dream would slip up with whatever game he was playing here. Good to know. Dream turned back and let his head tilt back, putting the smile on its side.

“Any potions?”

“No.”

“Tools?”

“No.”

“Armor?”

“No.”

“Was the netherite wall still up?”

“Yes.”

“And you were behind it? Trapped in the cell?”

“Yes.”

“Still afflicted by mining fatigue?”

“It didn’t go away for another twenty minutes after I left, Sam,” Dream growled from behind the mask. Sam made another note. He sighed and leaned back, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“So, let me see if I am following you correctly. You swam through several stories of lava to the ceiling with no armor or fire resistance, nothing to protect you whatsoever. And you dug through four layers of blocks, two of which are obsidian, with no tools and with mining fatigue. And you escaped the prison in the 90 minutes it took me to complete all the lockdown checks and measures and get back to you?”

“Yeah.”

“Dream.” The mask tilted up to show he was listening to Sam. “We’re not here to waste time.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” he said with a shrug.

“Dream!” Puffy snapped. Dream’s mask turned to her and tilted the other way. She ignored the obvious attempt at intimidation, taking a step forward. “Do you even realize how impossible everything you’ve said so far is? Tell us the truth.”

“Why?” He leaned forward. Sam could see the hint of a grin at the edges of the mask. “You won’t believe me.”

“Try us,” Puffy said at the same time Sam asked, “And why is that?” They glanced at each other, then back to Dream. He leaned back in his chair, stuffing his hands into his pocket, and shrugged. He then leveled the mask’s gaze at Sam.

“Because at no point today have I lied to you.”

“Bull _shit,_ ” Puffy hissed. Sam held out his hand to Puffy’s advance. He then looked back at her and stood up from his chair.

“Puffy, can I talk to you?” he asked. They left the room, left Dream and his mask smiling after them.

“Sam, you don’t believe him, do you?” Puffy asked once they were out in the hall, gesturing loudly with her hands. “None of that can be true! He’s lied to everyone, right? In L’Manberg, in, in- to Tommy! He manipulated Tommy and Tubbo! He manipulated me…” She squeezed her eyes, squeezed her fists. Sam wanted to reach out to her, to comfort her, but he held back. He was still in Professional Mode and it caused a confliction in his head. He lifted his gaze to hers and startled when he saw how wet her eyes were. “There’s no way he’s not lying to us now, is there?”

“I—“ Sam pressed his lips together and tried to shift his brain to comfort. “No, I agree with you, Puffy. It’s. It’s impossible. But…” He trailed off, thinking.

“But?”

“It’s hard to tell if he’s lying or not. That mask he has on; it makes it impossible to tell if he’s lying. People, when they lie, have visible ticks, tells that shows that’s what they are doing. But there’s nothing!” He pressed his hands together in frustration, then worked on calming himself. It wouldn’t do them any favors if he showed his emotions now. He was too busy with that to notice Puffy had gone quiet until she spoke again.

“Then why don’t we make him take it off?”

“How do you mean?” He asked, looking up at her. The tears were gone. Instead, there was determination and… something he couldn’t read in her.

“If you can’t get a read on him because of the mask, tell him to take it off!” She laughed and. It was a painful noise, a laugh that spoke of anger built by frustration. “What’s he going to do about it? Refuse? We have the upper hand here!”

“I don’t want to risk killing him if there’s an altercation.”

“Then,” Puffy trailed off as she thought. The mix of emotions that crossed her face made him feel. Feel something. He didn’t have time to process those feelings before she said, “We withhold food from him, until he takes it off.”

“Puffy, that’s-that’s _torture_.”

“You already only feed him enough to keep him alive. Is that not already torture?”

Sam didn’t have an answer for her, at least not one that denied her accusation. But to purposely withhold food… that felt like a line that, once crossed, meant there was no going back. But they needed information from him. They _needed_ it soon, otherwise their hands would be forced.

“I would bet my life that even he doesn’t want to die. He will have to eat at some point.” Puffy’s expression spoke of unbreakable determination, now that she decided her path. Sam felt he had little choice but to join her on this road.

“Alright,” he agreed. He checked the time and hummed. “It is almost lunch.”

“Are you suggesting we eat in front of him?”

“It might speed up the process?”

Puffy sighed and ran her hands through her hair. Even though she offered up the idea, she looked conflicted by the idea of carrying it out. She fisted her hands in her hair and pulled, breathing in softly. After a moment, she exhaled and dropped her hands.

“Alright. Let’s do this.”

Puffy and Sam returned to the cell. Dream perked up, pointedly watching Puffy as she took her place at Sam’s side, her back pressed up against the wall. Her expression remained blank. She became immovable as bedrock. Sam sat back down across from Dream, though he didn’t open his journal up. Before he could speak, Dream’s teasing voice cut through the silence.

“Did you have a good chat? I bet it was _real_ nice, leaving me here to twiddle my thumbs to keep myself entertained. Glad to have you back so I can waste more of your time and laugh as you two run around in circles. Huh? Was it a nice chat?” Dream’s mask tilted side to side. Sam started to understand a little more about him from that interaction alone. A bored Dream made him more annoying to deal with, but… it might give them an in. Sam folded his hands.

“Dream. Take off your mask.”

The mood shift was immediate. Even if Sam couldn’t see Dream’s expression, he could imagine it. The teasing grin falling away as he drew himself up. The fixing of his gaze as the mask straightened and centered. The frown opening as he responded in blatant refusal.

“No.”

“No?” Sam echoed.

“Absolutely not.”

“Worth a shot,” he sighed, sitting back in his chair. “So, instead, I will offer you a choice. Take off your mask, or you can stay here. And we’ll stop providing you with food.”

“What?” Dream started, a laugh bubbling out of him. “Your fair choice is to let me _starve?_ ”

“I never said it would be fair. It seems like a simple enough choice to me, Dream. Do one small task, or starve.”

“You wouldn’t let me die.”

“Do you really want to test that?” Sam asked. Dream looked away, hesitating. He glanced towards Puffy at one point, but she didn’t look at him. His shoulders hunched and he shook his head. He turned his face back to Sam and Sam could _feel_ the grin forming behind that mask.

“That’s pretty fucked up coming from you, Sam.”

“The situation’s been pretty fucked up long before this, Dream,” Sam replied, his tone dropping low. He allowed this small hint of his true feelings to show through, just this once. And then the waiting began. It lasted a lot longer than Sam anticipated. Several hours later, Dream still hadn’t given in. Sam and Puffy ate lunch together in front of him. It would have been nice, though it was hard to ignore Dream staring at them a few feet away. His stomach had growled a few times since then, until it figured out nothing was coming to satisfy it.

Dream soon learned that they intended to ignore him as well, pretend he wasn’t there and even leave him in the small room alone. One of them always stood outside the door as a guard. This room wasn’t as secure as the main cell and they could not risk Dream getting out. Sam’s intention was to bore Dream, deprive him of both food and entertainment until he caved. When he tried to talk to them, to poke and prod and tease, they refused to respond. When he turned to lashing out, they locked him alone in the room to finish his tantrum. It was growing close to three hours since they locked him in the small, dark room. Dream tried to keep himself busy. He talked to himself, to Puffy outside the door. He paced and fidgeted and knocked on the walls. However, the more he moved, the hungrier he got. Puffy told Sam at one point he sat in the middle of the room and just. Sat there with his mask tilting back and forth.

Sam, at some point, slept. It was Puffy’s recommendation. Sam had been awake for days with barely any sleep. He fixed the prison, fixed the redstone, checked, double checked, _triple checked_ every entrance, exit, mechanism, door, passage, bed trap, _everything_ , for any evidence for how Dream escaped. Puffy helped him pour over maps and notes and logs, then even the waivers, and they found nothing! During that time, Puffy brought him food and drink. She checked in on him, cared for him, ordered him to sleep in the guard lounge on the couch she dragged in one day while she stood watch over the main cell. He wanted to do something for her. For taking care of him when he would have run himself ragged. Maybe a nice dinner? He could take her back to his place, sit her next to Fran, as he cooked her something. Or they could cook together! Her lunch had been delicious, the little she shared with him today. She was a fantastic cook. Sam found himself dozing on the couch to the thought of what they could make together.

“Sam?” Puffy’s voice came over the communicator. Sam startled awake, hissing softly in his surprise. He almost missed the unsteady tone of her voice, almost. “—think he’s giving in now. Are you coming back?”

“Yes, I’ll. I’ll be there soon.

* * *

“Mama?”

Puffy straightened as Dream’s voice filtered through the door. It had been a very long time since she heard that word come from him. She focused her gaze on the wall in front of her and refused to look at Dream. His voice was soft, childlike. Like a child woken up in the middle of the night by a nightmare.

“Mama, does it hurt you to see your little Dreamling locked up? I can’t follow you around in here. Mama, I’ve missed you. You never came to visit me. And now you’re hurting me?”

“You hurt others. This is only fair.” Puffy forced her voice calm, steady.

“Mama? You think it’s fair to hurt your little duckling? I only wanted to play with them. I didn’t mean to break them.”

“You were going to kill Tubbo. You manipulated them, everyone. _Me_. This is what you deserve.” Even as she said it, she regretted it. She regretted being the reason Sam and her had done this to him. Torturing him just to get some information. It didn’t sit well with her and she knew she would never forgive herself for the idea.

“Do you want to kill me, Mama? You want to kill your little duckling?”

“Dream,” she said, her voice cracking on the name. She felt her heart breaking with every word he spoke, but she couldn’t fail now. She couldn’t break now. Even if it killed her to hurt him like this, they crossed the line a long time ago. She couldn’t break. “Take off the mask and this suffering will end.”

Dream’s voice faded. She could hear him lean up against the door, the thunk of the mask soft in the silence. When he spoke again, his voice was quiet, just above a whisper. And it sounded like he was hurting.

“I don’t want to,” he whispered. “I don’t want you to see that.” His breath shuddered and she heard him move to press his back against the door and slide down to the floor. “I don’t want to taint your image of me, Mama. I want to be your little duckling forever.”

And Puffy… Puffy almost believed him. She knew what Sam meant when he said it was impossible to tell when he wasn’t manipulating them, but. Something in his voice now felt _genuine_. She closed her eyes and saw memories of him following her around, happy and delighted to be by her side. He helped her, took her hand, and played the part of her little duckling so well. The silence stretched until she heard him sigh. Her ears twitched, tracking his movement as he stood up from the floor. He walked back to the table, pulled back the chair, and settled into it. Then, soft as anything, she heard a thunk against the table.

Puffy risked a look inside the room. Dream sat at the table, his hands covering his eyes, and the mask face up on the table. She saw his shoulders shudder and heard a small sniffle in the silence. She held herself back, even with every muscle in her body primed to dive in and hold his head to her chest and promise the world would be okay. She straightened and pressed her back to the wall, calming her breaking heart, before activating the communicator.

“Sam?”

* * *

Sam stepped back into the room, pausing at the entrance when he saw Dream’s mask face up on the table. It was the first time he had ever seen Dream’s bare face and, surprisingly, he found it unremarkable. Just another person, but one that had caused so much pain for so many people. He sighed and closed the door behind him. As he settled into the chair across from him, Dream turned his face towards Sam. The warden blinked, his focus narrowing on Dream’s eyes. His eyes were lime green, green like poison. A truly unnatural green. It threw him off and he could feel Puffy straighten behind him. He felt it too. There was a feeling of electricity in the air that was not there before. He pressed his back against the chair and breathed in deeply.

“Alright,” Sam said and offered Dream some food, as was agreed upon. “Perhaps now we can make some progress.” He waited for Dream to finish his meal. Then, the interrogation began again. Sam repeated the same questions as before and, like before, Dream repeated the same answers. Sam watched his face, categorized his expressions, focused on each twitch, each tick, each quirk of lips or brow, even the movement of his arms as he stimmed in his sweater pocket, and he came up empty. There was no new information to be had, no secrets revealed that were previously hidden alongside his face. Sam came to the conclusion with a huff that Dream was either a master liar—a master manipulator, or, by some truly impossible means, he was telling the truth.

Sam sat back in his chair, the frown on his face deepening. The questions were all answered, but none of them made any _sense_. Dream had leaned back, his head dropped backwards. The position did not look comfortable at all, but he felt too much frustration to be too concerned for the man’s posture. Sam pressed his lips together and… He noted that Dream was not stimming right now. He glanced down at his notes and tapped his fingers on the table. The only thing of real note was that Dream hadn’t started stimming until his mask was off. Sam assumed it was a nervous habit from feeling exposed. But.

There was something else too. Sam was. Seeing things. He didn’t know if Puffy was seeing them too. Ever since Dream took off his mask, she had gone on High Alert. Sam could see it out of the corner of his eye: her back straight, eyes forward, and her ears were twitching at every single sound that occurred in the small room. He realized suddenly that she was listening for a predator. Why? Dream was dangerous, but he was in a sweater and they both were in full enchanted netherite armor. They had the upper hand. They shouldn’t feel afraid.

But still his skin crawled. Still the eyes felt like they bore into his soul. And those eyes. At first, Sam thought it was a trick of the light, a small hallucination stemming from severe sleep deprivation. But it was still happening. The same thing was happening. Sam would look away from Dream to jot something down, and Dream’s eyes would flicker. But when Sam looked up again, they were back to normal. Or his mouth would open when he’d answer and, for the briefest second, Sam would see sharpened teeth filling his jaws. And then it was gone.

Sam’s gaze flickered up to Dream. He was shifting in his chair now, obviously growing restless as the silence stretched. Extreme measures seemed to help force him to open up. Sam didn’t want to do this. He didn’t want to go this far, but he needed answers. The whole reason they were doing this interrogation was so that no more people needed to get hurt. He didn’t want to go this far, but Dream was forcing his hand.

“Dream,” he started, leaning forward. Dream turned to him, tilting his head as if he still had the mask on his face. Sam noted he was stimming again. “You know why we’re having this conversation, yes?”

“So that whatever happened can be prevented?” Dream said with a shrug.

“Yes, that too.” Sam saw Dream mouth ‘Too?’ and he felt a rush of vicious victory. He tried not to show it on his face. He was a professional. He reached for the books in his inventory and laid them out on the table in front of Dream. “You know what these are, yes?”

Dream glanced at Sam first before reaching for one. He glanced at the title and lifted an eyebrow. “These are the prison waivers. That you sign to be able to visit.”

“Yes.” Sam picked his next words very carefully. “Dream, who was the last person to visit you?”

“Technoblade.”

“Right. You wrote these waivers. You know what they say.”

Dream’s brow creased and his arms stilled in his sweater. Sam waited for the realization to hit, for the stakes they faced to become a reality. Sam saw his eyes flicker again when the realization finally hit.

“Fuck no,” he snarled, jerking forward. Puffy reached for her sword, her body tensed like tripwire.

“Dream. The reason we are having this conversation is because if we are unable to clear Technoblade’s name, if we are unable to show evidence that Technoblade did not help you escape, we are obligated to take his remaining lives.”

“You wouldn’t _dare_ ,” he growled and Sam saw it again. The teeth sharpened to bite. He purposefully ignored it, glad at least that they were now _getting somewhere_.

“He read and signed the waivers. He knew what he was signing away. We _have_ to.” Sam leaned back. “Dream, I don’t want to do it. Puffy doesn’t want to do it. But we are obligated to do so. _Unless,_ you tell us the truth. Unless you give us _proof_ that Technoblade did not help you escape.”

Dream inhaled through his teeth, teeth that were blunt and white and human. He closed his eyes, and Sam found him to be the most expressive now. Now, that his eyes were hidden. He was thinking, discarding thoughts, caught like a mouse in a trap with only one way out. Two ways, but Sam prayed that they wouldn’t have to hunt an unkillable man down. After a long stretch of time, Dream opened his eyes. They looked brighter. Dream’s expression was tight, speaking of frustration.

“Fine,” he said, exhaling it like a sigh. “I will tell you the truth.” He glanced at Puffy, then flicked his gaze back to Sam’s. “But only you.”

“What?” Puffy cried out. “W-what do you mean only Sam?”

“You leave,” Dream clarified, his gaze flicking back to Puffy. Sam noted he held himself still, uncomfortable with the situation. “He stays.”

“Do you think you have a bargaining chip here? We’re in full armor and you’re—”

“Puffy,” Sam interrupted. “I don’t like the idea either, but please. Take a break. I will call you if I need you.” Puffy pressed her lips together, but sheathed her sword.

“Alright. If he makes one wrong move, you call me and I’ll be here.” She looked at Dream, pausing for a moment. Something passed between them, crossing both their expressions. Then she walked out. Sam turned back to Dream and opened a new page in his journal.

"I'm listening, Dream," he said. When he glanced up at the man's face, he saw that his eyes were closed again. Sam also noted Dream's hands were on the table, still as the air around them. Dream breathed in deeply. On the exhale, he opened his eyes and

And

Sam jerked back so hard the chair skidded across the floor. Dream watched him idly, but his eyes were not that of a human's. They looked veined, lines warping near the beaded vertical pupil. The pupils widened in the dim light, sitting there almost unblinking. Dream tilted his head at Sam and opened his mouth. Sam could see the teeth sharpening before him. His jaws opened and his tongue turned into the same lime green of his eyes, extending over his teeth where it forked at the end. His fingers curled over the table and Sam heard the screech of nails dragging across the table as he watched the fingers turn to claws. Dream opened his mouth to let out a growl and Sam watched a second set of jaws drop in. 

“What the…?” Sam whispered. Dream tilted his head, rumbling a growl at him. He let out a sigh, then held up a hand.

“Give me a moment,” he said. He pushed back the chair and got up. “I promise this will make sense soon.” Dream removed his sweater, then started on the rest of his clothes, resolutely not blushing from the situation. It was awkward, but it needed to happen. He saw Sam open his mouth to continue to speak and he interrupted him, holding out a claw. “Look, if you want me to keep having clothes after this interrogation is over, just- just go with it. Just. Don’t.”

Sam settled back in his chair and watched. When Dream was done, he moved the chair back, but he didn’t sit back down in it. Out of whatever respect he still had for the man’s privacy, Sam focused on Dream’s face. However, this did mean that Dream’s face elongating was the first thing he saw as the transformation progressed. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end at the sight before him. Dream’s body expanded, growing larger until his back brushed the ceiling of the—admittedly _small_ —room. He grew skin that looked at first like leather, then scales and Sam remembered… _stories._ Stories he had heard in the Badlands, stories of the place endermen lived in. Not the Nether. Not in that hell pit, even if they like the warped forests. No, somewhere further. Somewhere else. Among those stories, whispered around low burning fires and lanterns of caravans, was talk of a beast. Unrivaled by all, a creature known as a dragon.

Those stories came to Sam now, as he stared at the nightmare Dream had become, and he wondered if they held some spark of truth. A low rumble brought Sam’s attention back to Dream. His form towered over Sam and a tail whipped behind him. The mouth didn’t look like it could close comfortably and Sam, idly, wondered if he was doing that on purpose. While Sam’s outward appearance was surprisingly calm, inside he was caught in an unceasing panic attack. He inhaled through his nose, forcing himself to remain calm, and lifted his hand. Dream's head twitched at the movement and Sam stilled. When nothing happened, he moved again, slowly, to touch Dream's arm. The flesh there was firm and tough, scaled in places, but still _flesh_. 

"So," he started, surprised by the level tone. It still took some doing to force out his words. “This helped you survive the lava?”

Dream rumbled in returned, shifting his weight to one hand, braced on the table. He lifted the other hand/claw and dropped it on Sam’s shoulder. Sam’s breath hitched and he focused on a scale on Dream’s chest, willing his anxiety to fall to more acceptable levels. The weight was heavier than he expected and it only grounded him in the situation. Another rumble dragged his attention back to Dream’s face. He tilted it again, as if he was still wearing the mask. Claws closed around his shoulder, pricking through the spaces in his armor. Another breath and he felt. Calmer. Probably.

Then Dream growled again and gestured with his head to the side, towards his claw. Sam squinted, frowning, but he glanced over to the claw. He saw nothing, not at first. But then movement out of the corner of his drew his gaze back to the arm and Sam did a double-take.

Netherite crept up the length of Dream's arm in slow curls. It seemed to devour the flesh and Sam followed its growth up to his shoulder, over his maw, and down to the tip of the lashing tail. When it was done, Dream fixed his gaze upon him once more, his jaws opening to reveal even his insides had changed to netherite. 

"Ah," Sam forced out with a cough. He reached over and knocked his knuckles on Dream's arm. It sounded like netherite. "I see." Dream removed the weight from Sam's shoulders, setting the hand back down on the table. He likely couldn't speak in this form, but Sam was smart. He could form his conclusions from this, then clarify when he could speak again.

Netherite couldn't burn, so a body fully made of it wouldn't burn either. Perfect for swimming through lava. Also for breaking through the blocks fast, even if the claws weren't enchanted. He timed it in his head based on Dream's answers and. Yeah. He would've been out within an hour. But…

"None of the netherite blocks were broken in the wall in your cell. The redstone was working. So how did you get over that?" Mining the obsidian would take far too long.

Dream tapped a claw on the table, then, almost delicately, reached over to touch Sam's quill. Sam blinked as the tip of the claw changed, ink welling to the surface. Dream took the journal and opened it to an empty page, then drew a rough sketch of a clock. Sam stared at it, thinking through what this meant. Until, suddenly, it made sense.

"Gold. You turned into gold." Dream nodded and settled back. That made sense. Gold was malleable and wasn’t broken easily in its basic form. He wondered if it would ease the netherite transformation too, make it solid and durable like netherite ingots. Dream chirred, bringing Sam’s attention back to him. He had straightened and touched a hand to approximately where his ribcage would be. He felt around, pressing against the netherite/flesh until he winced. Sam heard the grinding of broken stone and winced in turn.

“Malleable enough to squeeze through, but too large to escape injury?” Sam guessed. Dream nodded. Sam hummed and opened his journal to add the note. “Are you able to turn into any material?” At Sam’s question, Dream agreed, but lifted his lip in a half snarl. “Yes, but why would you want to?” Dream nodded again and tapped the journal pages. Sam hummed again. “I can see why paper and leather would be useless. Glass too fragile as well. Grass?” He cracked a smile. The smile Dream returned was honestly a bit gruesome. “Too silly, for sure. Netherite is a good all-around material, assuming you have access to it. Fire resistant, knockback resistant, strong, durable, if a bit utilitarian.” He paused and frowned.

“You were gone for six hours. Where did you go?” Dream shook his head. “You could lie. I wouldn’t know.” Another no. “Hiding something, then. Why?” Dream gave him a pointed look. “Right. You can’t speak.” Sam inhaled through his nose to calm down. He pressed his lips together as he rearranged the question in his head. “Wherever you went, how did you escape notice? I haven’t heard anyone seeing you running around.” A harsh _CRACK_ echoed through the room as Dream’s back opened and

Oh.

“You…” Sam dropped his head in his hands and groaned. “Of all the things I’ve seen today, why is you having _wings_ the least surprising?” Dream made a noise like laughter and Sam lifted his head to glare tiredly at him. “Can you just turn back human so we can have a conversation now?” The nightmare form shrank, most of the non-human features going back to normal, save for the tongue, the teeth, and those _eyes_. Dream sighed and tapped clawed fingers on the table as he sat back down.

“Sam,” he said, his voice surprisingly hoarse. It sounded strange amongst the still very sharp teeth. “I don’t turn ‘back’ human. I turn ‘into a human’. Human is not the base. Not for me.”

“No?”

“That form you saw was closer to the base.”

“Closer?” Dream looked away at the question, hesitation on his face. Sam pressed the topic. “Why hide it? Why hide what you are?”

“You wouldn’t understand,” Dream said with a shake of his head.

“And why is that?”

Dream didn’t answer right away, but that was alright. They weren’t going anywhere and Sam could wait. Sam noted that he looked tired. Exhausted. Did transforming take a lot of energy? Sam slid across another loaf of bread towards Dream. He glanced at it, then swiped it and devoured it far too quickly. Sam had a brief image in his head of those teeth ripping through flesh and snapping bones. He blinked and refocused on Dream.

“Too many people know already. You see this?” Dream reached for the mask and offered it to him. “There’s enchantments on it, ones I made myself long ago. They help keep the human form stable. This,” he gestured to himself. “This form is more stable than the human form. But people don’t react well to the teeth.”

“There’s very few humans here, as I’ve seen,” Sam said. “I don’t think people would—"

“Tell me, Sam. The first time you saw me change, what did you think?” He spoke by baring his teeth, a faint growl rumbling in his chest. Sam pressed his lips together, then looked away.

“That you were a nightmare.”

“Exactly.”

A thought came unbidden to Sam right then. And once the thought became known in his head, he started to piece things together. And he understood now, at least in some part.

“And that’s why you call yourself ‘Dream’.”

* * *

Hooved footsteps crossed over the obsidian, the lava receding into the floor the only light illuminating Puffy. She stopped behind the netherite wall, hands on her hips as she gazed down at Dream. He lifted his gaze towards her and waited to hear why she came.

“Dream, take it off. I don’t,” she pressed her lips together and ran her fingers through her hair, pulling it at the roots. “I don’t _care_ if you think it will change how I see you. Trust me, that. That’s already happened.” She sighed and looked at him. “I want to see the real you, Dream.”

And Dream

Dream took off his mask for her. He unlatched it silently and set the mask aside. He let the change happen, keeping his gaze away from hers. He didn’t want to see her expression, her fear. He didn’t want to scare her away. At the end of his transformation, he risked a glance upwards. Puffy’s hand covered her mouth, her eyes wide in shock. He growled and turned away from her. She would hate him now. She would hate what she saw. This is why he didn’t want to show her. He wanted her to remember him as her little duckling. Pretend that everything that happened since was a nightmare to be forgotten in the morning.

“Dream,” she called. He didn’t turn back to her, so she called his name again. “My little Dreamling, come here. Come to Mama Puffy.”

Dream lifted his head, his chest aching with want. He crept over and rested his head on the netherite wall. It was cold under his flesh, but when her hands came around his head, her touch was warm. He hesitated, then leaned into it. She hugged his head and cooed at him.

“Dream, my little Dreamling. I promise that I will come and visit you more. Not as your guard. I know how they feel about you. How everyone feels about you. They don’t think you can be saved. They believe that you should rot here.” Her fingers tightened around him and he chirred softly. “You’ve done things that are unforgivable, Dream. Remember that.”

Dream remembered. He had a lot of time to himself to think and remember and… Some of the things, he did not regret. He would be honest to himself on that. But there were other things he did regret. He sorely regretted them. It was why he returned to the prison after leaving Technoblade with Philza. He could have left. Easily, even. But he felt in his soul that he belonged here, to pay reparations for the crimes he had committed. Puffy was moving away now and he whined. He didn’t want to be left alone, not yet, not again. But she wasn’t leaving. She beckoned for him to look at her. Past the tears in her eyes was that unshakeable determination.

“You are still worth saving. And I will do my damnedest to prove that. Will you help me?”

And Dream nodded. He had not lied to them yet and he had no plans to change that.


End file.
